


Ride Or Die

by SarahW



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cyberpunk, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 08:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15481281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahW/pseuds/SarahW
Summary: In a decadent, futuristic society, the Prince of All Saiyans has fallen from Grace within his Master's Army.One night, a mysteriously lethal woman will enter his life, making him an offer too tempting to refuse...





	Ride Or Die

 

 _Is she a Ride-or-Die Bitch?_  
Does she know I'm tattooed onto your heart?  
You can try to fight it  
I have left my mark on you  
There is nothing you can do

[Lana Del Rey; _“She’s Not Me/Ride Or Die”_ ]

 

 

He fell on the pavement with unexpected violence, his entire body convulsing frenziedly under the startling electrical forces of the woman’s bizarre weapon.

 _‘Little bitch from Hell…’_ He thought bitterly to himself, warm, coppery taste spreading through his teeth as a gloved hand wiped off a few droplets of scarlet from his bottom lip.

_Furious._

He should be furious at being reduced to such a humiliating position by nothing but a meager weakling, some scrawny female with a power level inferior to that he possessed at the tip of his pinky finger.

Instead, as he struggled to focus his blurry vision on the interminable pair of leather-covered legs sinuously walking towards him with the suaveness of a predatory tigress, Vegeta couldn’t help but wonder why, just _why_ the Devil had that sneaky woman chosen to come back to _him_ , and what kind of evil-minded scheme she had in store this time around.

When he’d first laid eyes on her that night, he’d literally had to give her a double take in order to make sure that she was real, and not some delusional hallucination provoked by one too many shots of blue absinthe, an infernal string of back-to-back demeaning assignments, and a good handful of bleary, insomniac nights.

But she was no chimeric illusion.

_She was real._

As real as the sharp sounds of those hypnotic high heels clacking unapologetically against the humid asphalt, and that audacious, malicious chuckle intermingling with the distant echoes of the strident electronic music booming inside the nightclub nearby, the very same spot where he’d first bumped into her, less than two weeks ago.

“Aw, _Ouji_ … I’m very, _very_ disappointed…” The vulgar wench scolded him, her tongue-in-cheek tone betrayed by the dead seriousness of the second, high-voltage blast she shot _right_ into his crotch.

“Bitch!” He yapped with manic viciousness, writhing pathetically on the ground like a fish out of water while his hands moved in a flash, reaching down to cup whatever was left of his poor, battered dick.   

“Is this how you greet a lady?” Her mouth pouted playfully, thoroughly unperturbed by his spiteful insult, perhaps already used to being called all sorts of colorful invectives, given the nature of her alleged ‘ _occupation’_. “I thought we had fun, you and I… Didn’t we, _Ouji_?”

A few more steps positioned her at his squirmy feet, and she simply stood there for a short time, those endless legs of hers open in a stance of pure defiance, pointing her gun at him with the nerve-wracking confidence of a woman accustomed to devious coercion and sneaking around for a living.

_He couldn’t believe it._

The Saiyan still couldn’t believe that, out of all the goddamned women he could have possibly chosen to spend the night with, he’d ended up fucking the one woman no other warrior alive would have _ever_ wished to fuck around with.

Then again, whenever he stopped to sensibly consider the surreal circumstances of their first encounter, it didn’t look as if he’d had much of a choice to begin with, given how he’d already been well on his way under the table when she’d made her triumphant entrance into the club.

Vegeta could still _see_ her, he could still picture the sexy little vamp stepping into the underground joint, walking without a care in the world amongst a packed crowd of drunken warriors, ludicrously flamboyant hipsters, and a wide selection of cheap tramps, looking completely out of place as she approached him with intimidating resolution.

Indeed, it’d been nearly impossible not to notice her sly beauty, that tiny figure covered in black leather from head to toe, her frame ridiculously small, but with every single curve _just_ in the right place, as if she’d been drawn to perfection by the most skilled and twisted of artists.

The Prince had been powerless to ignore the silent pull that her mere presence seemed to exert on everyone around her, turning heads left and right with every nimble step taken in his cursed direction. Shiny leather and oddly pale skin bathed in loud neon lights, vivid pinks and lurid greens mirrored on the glossy reflection of her curiously colored hair, that turquoise bob, sleek and sharp, almost as much as the woman sporting it.

His messed-up brains had been so stupidly plastered, that all he could do when that beautiful snake in the grass finally reached his spot, perching her elbows on the bar top with frightening nonchalance, and sinking her foot at the base of his stool, right between his casually spread legs, was to stare at her like a clueless fool.

“Man! This place is such a dump…” The intoxicating woman stated with nil shame. “Am I right?” She asked aloofly, her striking eyes on him at last, eyes the color of the brightest skies, compelling his transfixed glance to never leave the minuscule hand coolly grabbing his half-full glass, and bringing it straight to her parted mouth. “But I’ll be damned if they don’t have the best fucking absinth in town…”

A canny smirk crossed her lips before she gulped the whole thing down, dropping the now empty glass in front of him as she tapped the hard surface with dangerously red, pointy fingernails.

“Well?” She asked with vibrant impatience, looking like the cat who got the cream while caressing the corner of her mouth with the tip of her poisonous tongue. “Aren’t you going to buy a girl a drink?”

_He did._

Vegeta might not have a very clear recollection of exactly what had transpired during that fuzzy evening, but he did recall spending a hefty amount of credits paying for the mysterious woman’s beverages, gawking in inebriated stupefaction at the careless way in which she literally guzzled drink after drink like a champ. Because she’d been right, of course, and the one and only reason why a guy like him would have ever been caught in some artsy, pretentious shithole like this one, was because it was one of the few places which still offered unadulterated blue absinth, none of that watered-down counterfeit served in most other slums in the city.

The rest of the night was now nothing to the Saiyan but hot chaos, a vague reminiscence of anarchic memories, all centered around that captivating, blue-haired enigma. He could still _feel_ those long nails lightly scraping the thin spandex suit protecting his muscular thighs, his blood throbbing with rage in his ears, almost in unison with the overwhelming cybernetic music mercilessly booming all around them.

If she’d talked much, soon after he’d obliged to her bold request, he wouldn’t know, all he knew was the way his black eyes had helplessly roamed all over those shapely legs in shameful impotence, her mischievous knee, encased in skintight, thigh-high boots, getting perilously closer to his most sensitive area. And dazzling lights and laughter and wanton side glances, and more brazen hands that wouldn’t stay _right_ where they were supposed to be, far away from that invisible bubble of impenetrable space always surrounding him, breaking the rules in a way no other woman, no other _being_ really, would ever dare to.

Later that night, when he’d inexplicably ended up taking her to his scroungy place, banging her brains out on top of his busted mattress, the dirty little minx had also proven herself to be a true champ in more ways than one when she’d taken all of him, riding his hard cock into oblivion with the dynamite skills of a veteran hustler, and howling his name with frantic desperation, as if the whole wide world were about to end in that very instant.

_His name._

He hadn’t even ventured to ask her own.

No further words had been spoken that night and, when morning graciously welcomed him, with exasperating sunlight and a mammoth hangover, the only remaining evidence attesting that the secretive slut had ever existed to begin with, was her temptingly stimulating scent clinging to every corner of the shabby room, and a fresh batch of nasty scratches imprinted all over his already marred skin.

 

No names.

No goodbyes.

_Nothing._

 

Nothing but a flaccid dick and a wounded ego, and that old, wise voice reverberating in the back of his thick head, begging him to let go of the memoirs of such a volatile night, together with the unclear images of the most peculiar creature he’d ever come across, and just take a much-needed shower and move on with his life.

_He couldn’t._

Before he knew what was coming, and going against every ounce of whatever was left of his idiotic wits, Vegeta found himself embarking on a bumpy journey, a convoluted road of half-truths and back alley conversations, making good use of the few clandestine connections still at his service in that decadent town.    

The more he knew, the less he wished to know, holding the secret hope that he wouldn’t have yet fallen into the invisible net which he was now fully convinced the cunning woman had weaved for his eyes only.

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

_Not a chance._

It was no damned coincidence that a woman like her, enveloped by a legion of chilling stories involving classified missions, deceitful acts of cold betrayal, and confidential meetings with Frieza himself, had stepped right into his life, blatantly attempting to seduce him in the middle of the night, by mere chance.

Vegeta had half-expected her to _‘accidentally’_ reappear soon after their boozed-up rendezvous had taken place. But, as days went by, he slowly but surely started to fall back into that moronic, false sense of security inevitably preceding every catastrophic storm.

And just like that, _just_ when he’d ultimately gotten used to the imprudent idea that perhaps the female’s intrusion had been little more than a dreamlike fluke, finally gathering the courage to return to that wretched nightclub, with the sole intention of getting drunk out of his mind on hard liquor, the furtive woman bounced back in full force.

_Inimitable._

That petite figure, that voluptuous silhouette engulfed by that all too familiar neon glow, similar outfit, same attitude, and the rare gift of being able to walk around keeping her chin up in sheer insolence while managing to avoid making eye contact with whatever loser crossed her path.

The warrior had been lucky to spot her long before their eyes were given the chance to meet, getting enough time to do just what any self-respecting, Saiyan Elite warrior would have chosen to do in his place.

_Run._

Run for his life, not even bothering to pay for the couple of drinks he’d already put away, quickly scanning the semi-illuminated joint, and making a clean exit through the emergency door in the back.

What he hadn’t counted on was how foolishly predictable his actions would be to a trained agent like her, or the unusual shooting distance of what on the surface appeared to be a standard handgun, technically without enough potency or range to make so much as a scratch on someone like him.

And he most certainly hadn’t expected to end the night thrashing in the middle of some filthy backstreet with his balls in his hands, yet _here_ he was, trying his best to push aside the murderous thoughts burning in his chest so as not to end up killing the Demon woman long before he got the opportunity to find out what exactly she had in mind.

“Out with it!” The Prince spat in a vicious bark, wondering if he should even bother to try to put on one of his well-practiced, serious façades when the little bitch had already stripped him from any trace of dignity he may have possessed.

“Uh?” The vixen asked with fake naivete, a lanky eyebrow arching in mocking curiosity, even though she knew damn well what he was asking of her.

“I said out with it!” Vegeta reiterated, anger squaring his jaw, the freezing air of the night straining around him already. “What the fuck do you want from me?!”

_He wasn’t surprised._

He wasn’t surprised in the least when she made the choice to put the weapon down, her movements slow, firm, casual in appearance, but deeply calculating at heart.

“I could ask you the same question, _Ouji_ …” She purred with unnerving calmness, lips twisting into a lopsided smirk as her tongue toyed with his hollow title. “I know you’ve been doing a little investigation of your own…”

She took one step forward.

_Then another._

Alluring hips swaying with her every mesmerizing move, treacherously reminding him of just how unbelievably _good_ squeezing that soft flesh between his calloused fingers had felt like, and a foxy gleam in her blue irises, staring right back at him, the silent promise of more things to come if he decided to be a good boy, and he played his cards right.

“I bet…” The woman cleverly predicted, taking yet another step in his direction, and lowering her remarkably confident voice, ready to invite him into a new, forbidden territory. “I bet you already know my _name_ …”

Vegeta huffed in clear offence at the woman’s implications, his gaze suddenly evading hers with chagrin, and his mind spinning at frantic speed as he reflected on the female’s smart assumption, reaching the conclusion that, either the snide creature had been keeping a stealthy eye on him all along, or she knew herself to be far too irresistible to easily fall between the cracks of a man’s memory.

He didn’t know how or why she knew.

_He didn’t._

All he knew was that, now that he had her within his lethal reach, each one of those majestic legs inflexibly planted on each side of his well-built torso, and he no longer felt the need to tend to his crippled crotch anymore, the female’s raw magnetism was such that the Prince was simply incapable of attacking her, choosing to hold his tongue instead, intrigued to see where this unreal conversation would eventually lead.

_Two could play this game._

“Because you _do_ know my name…” The temptress guessed with success, landing her peachy little ass right on his rock-hard abdomen, as if she already owned exclusive rights over every inch of his abused body. She spread her legs wide open, sharp high heels digging harshly into the pavement, and one elbow sloppily hanging on her knee while her other hand reached out to his handsome face without a hint of fear. “Don’t you, _Ouji_?” Her index finger trailed lazily across his flesh with one of those long, cherry nails, from his angular cheekbone to the bottom of his manly jaw, tipping his chin and forcing his glance back on her with disturbing coolness.

The foreign sensation of her discomforting touch sent shivers of shameful excitement through his spine, burning sparks of embarrassment and exhilaration, a friendly reminder of what those feminine claws of hers could do, not that he still didn’t have more than a couple of sore gashes on his own bottom to prove it.

Vegeta instantly counterattacked by shooting her his most devilish smirk, doing his best to conceal the disgraceful effect that her mere presence was awakening inside of him

 

Of course.

 _He knew_.   

The woman may not have been much more than a beautiful ghost, an exotic cluster of far too many contradictions, undisclosed secrets, and hard edges, leaving nothing but a deadly stream of unresolved enigmas and dark shadows in her wake, but there was one name, one colorful alias which kept continually reappearing, never to leave his deluded mind.

 

Bulma.

 _Bulma Briefs_.

Bitch extraordinaire, one of the Emperor’s most coveted personal spies, and proud holder of the greatest pair of gravity-defying tits the Prince had ever put in his mouth.

 

“Bulma,” Vegeta sneered, his tongue rolling idly as the corrupted word burst in his mouth. “ _Bulma Briefs_ …” His confession came at last, and he could have sworn seeing her black pupils wildly dilating at the sound of the rich undertones speaking her name.

A tricky finger lightly booped the tip of his regal nose. “Good boy…” She whispered with sarcastic condescendence.

“How many?” The soldier demanded, potent fists clenching at his sides with barely controlled fury, no doubt an automatic response to the absurdly dangerous liberties the blasted woman was taking with him.

“How many what?” Bulma answered without delay, her brow furrowing in honest perplexity, perhaps the first spontaneous reaction he’d ever stolen out of her manipulative masquerade.

Cocky triumph, and an odd sense of pride at being able to confuse the woman, if only for a split second, conquered Vegeta’s immobile smirk. “How many blasts do you have left in that thing?” He asked again, his head subtly pointing to the small weapon still clutched in her resting hand. “Two? Three?”

“Oh?” Jezebel replied in understanding. “This old thing?”

 

_‘Oh…’_

She was _poison_ alright. 

 

Now that he could take a good look at the woman, without his gifted Saiyan senses being dulled by the effects of the blue absinthe, Vegeta could see exactly _why_ every single prick he’d put through the wringer, during his undercover investigation regarding his evanescent lover, had practically implored him to cease his venturous quest, and forget he ever met her.

Bulma Briefs was a real shape-shifter, one of those women blissfully ignorant of what the word _‘principle’_ even meant.

Here she was, holding a gun in her hand while watching him like a wide-eyed little doll, long lashes blinking innocently, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her pretty mouth when, mere seconds earlier, she was acting like danger on wheels.

Ever since the elusive woman had barged into his life, Vegeta had been beating himself up, day and night, for giving into his weak appetites with such dumb ease. But, now that he was getting the priceless opportunity to witness Bulma’s black magic at work with his own eyes, he could finally give himself a break, and understand how even a man like him, ever alone and eternally grouchy, had ended up becoming such an easy prey for a skilled trickster like her.

“I have four left, actually…” She frankly explained, tilting her head to the side with clearly false concern. “Why do you ask?”

“Four… _Uh?_ ” The Prince questioned back, rough fingertips delving into the asphalt, doing all he could to keep his basest instincts at bay as he fixated his sights on that flawless face.

He wanted to _touch_ her, the Gods had mercy on his imbecilic soul, he wanted to rip off that leather jumpsuit, pin her to the ground, and have his way with her.

 

Now.

_Right now._

 

“And what do you think will happen when you run out of little toys?” Vegeta newly probed, voice dripping in husky venom.

Her comeback didn’t take long.

“I see…” Bulma answered astutely, her naïve deception soon morphing into the sensual arrogance which seemed to be her natural state. “Are you threatening me, _Ouji_?”

“I could _kill_ you…” He retorted, his blood incensed both by her relentless disdain of his title by birthright, and by the light chuckle rumbling in her throat at the mere thought of him actually attacking her.

“You wouldn’t,” the woman stated with infuriating confidence, switching her body weight in such way that her knees were now solidly pressed to the ground, effectively straddling his compact waist between her thighs.

 

Enough.

_Enough of this nonsense._

 

In the blink of an eye, his hands were right on her, clutching a handful of lustrous leather and pulling towards him with just enough force to get to feel her sweet, moist breath ghosting his pursed mouth.   

“Is that so?” Vegeta asked in a malicious whisper, his tanned skin prickling beneath his close-fitting combat suit at the terrifying realization that the diabolical creature’s features remained perfectly still, like the Ice Queen she _truly_ was, even while he shook her around. “And what makes you so fucking sure?”  

“Because…” Her soft murmur embraced him, an indolent grin on her lips proudly confirming what they both already knew to be a fundamental truth. “Someone like _you_ doesn’t get to kill someone like _me_ without getting the green light from the _Big Guy_ upstairs…”

_‘Damn her!’_

She was right.

Even in his prime, long before his utterly humiliating Fall from Grace within Frieza’s army, the Emperor’s most valuable operatives would have been completely off grounds for a soldier like Vegeta, unless a direct order was issued by the wicked Lizard himself, or there was a strongly justifiable explanation behind the informer’s murder.

And the Saiyan Prince had _neither_.

 

“I’m still waiting, woman…” Vegeta urged with insistence, hoping in secret for the woman to tire of playing games with him, letting the cat out of the bag as soon as possible.

_It was unbearable._

The thrilling sensation of that silken curtain of turquoise hair tickling his skin as it fell all over his face, and that enticing, distinctive perfume, the one permeating his lousy apartment ever since she’d vanished in the middle of the night, were starting to make him fear that he may end up losing control, and doing something awfully thoughtless in front of her, like letting her know that he might not be opposed to an obscene remake of their past, drunken activities.

But, as a painfully uncomfortable silence stretched out, and Bulma’s presumptuous expression wouldn’t budge a bit, it soon became self-evident that her main intention tonight was to _test_ him, trying to see how the wind blew before making the choice to share her insidious secrets with him.

Vegeta’s fists tightened around the fistful of black leather, bringing her face so daringly closer to his own that their noses almost touched. His best days in terms of raw physical power may, very possibly, be behind him by now, but if there was _one_ thing never lost to a Saiyan Prince, that was his pride, and he surely wasn’t about to let some smug hussy play around with his confused emotions without challenging her back in return.

“You’re cock hungry… Aren’t you, _Bulma Briefs_?” He provoked her, smirk broadening, wolfish canines glowing in the dark, putting on a show of defiance for her perverse pleasure alone. “Is that why you’re here?”

“Oh?” She gasped softly, his bold question prompting a reaction out of her, just not _exactly_ the one he was hoping for. “Is that what it looks like?”

Her self-righteous smirk soon transformed into a flashy Cheshire grin, the type of dazzling smile which could have inevitably fooled a less seasoned man, but that, in him, did nothing but make the hairs on the back of his neck stand in trepidation.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Bulma confessed, every word coming out of that unholy mouth stomping all over his beloved pride just a little more. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, _Ouji..._ You were a pretty fun place to sit…” She soon carried on; after all, she had him _right_ where she wanted him, and no woman ever got hurt by stroking a man’s fragile ego. “But that’s not why I came back.”   

Her voice was but scathing sandpaper dipped in rich chocolate, and as his fingers lingered heavily into that bunch of cold leather, Vegeta was, once again, rendered speechless by her emotionless cruelty, and by the unfamiliar sentiments that her rejection was stirring inside of him, killing whatever gullible hope of the icy woman holding any kind of authentic interest in someone like him.

“I’m here because I _know_ ,” she promptly clarified, taking some resemblance of pity on him, and putting an end to his apprehension. “I know you’re not half the man you used to be, _Ouji_ …” Bulma’s not-so-surprising concession came at last, keeping one hand firmly perched on the hot pavement for better leverage, while soothingly running those long, criminal fingers through his wild, flame-shaped hair with the other.

Her touch was so astoundingly kind, the spark of empathy at the heels of her words so truthful in appearance, that the Prince was now fully convinced that this bewitching creature held the gift to charm gold from the Gods themselves.

“I know you’ve lost a great deal of your power. Just like I know _how_ …”

“ENOUGH!” Vegeta cut off her insolence with sudden fury, rapidly ending her tempting ministrations by grasping her thin wrist, with such vigor that he could almost hear those frail bones cracking under the pressure.

 _‘Good…’_ He resolved victoriously when an unexpected wince of pain spoiled her delicate brow, proof that, for all her charming beauty, flourished words, and false bravado, the woman was made out of mortal flesh and blood, after all.

There had been some sad truth in her brutally honest statement, but the fact that the Zenith of his life as a warrior had come and gone far too soon, didn’t quite mean that he still wouldn’t possess enough power to take her down with him if her charade made him lose what was left of his limited patience.

And she was _already_ walking on thin ice.

“You didn’t let me finish, _Ouji_ …” Bulma gently chastised him with an irresistible, sullen look, recovering from her brief lapse of weakness with the sly expertise of a trooper, and instigating the Prince to ask himself just what kind of hardcore training an apparently fragile woman like her had been subjected to, to become the fallacious impostor which she clearly knew herself to be. “I was just about to let you _know_ that I’ve discovered a little secret about you too…” Her hushed whisper confided, not even taking the trouble to wriggle out from his threatening grip, generous enough to let him fall into the deceitful illusion that he could ever hold some smidgen of control over her.

“Is that so?” Vegeta inquired with plain arrogance, making a great effort to hide the increasing curiosity that those cryptic words inspired.   

The woman had already alluded to being well aware of his dishonorable downfall within the Emperor’s Elite forces so, whatever secret she’d found out about him, it must have been related to something else entirely, unless the cunning whore was simply lying through her teeth.

“It is.” She replied self-assuredly. “Would you like to know what I’ve learnt about you, _Ouji_?”

A rough grunt resounded in his chest, his lips displaying the best contemptuous sneer in his repertoire. “Whatever you have to say,” Vegeta murmured menacingly. “Say it _now_ …”

Bulma stayed on her knees, cocksure smile spreading even further as her thighs tautened around her victim’s solid torso to indecent levels, suggestively reminding him of the filthy, despicable things that she could do with them.

_He couldn’t lie._

It’d been incredible to feel the creamy skin of the inner side of those thighs stubbornly pressed against his ears, when she’d literally sat on his face during their one and only night together, slim fingers viciously snatching a fistful of raven hair as she _demanded_ that he please her.

Never had he fucked a woman so aggressive, so fiercely in control of her sexuality, showing no qualms about asking for what she really wanted, and never stopping her shameless quest for pleasure and satisfaction until she got _it_. Just like he’d never caved in with as much terrifying ease as during that heated night, strong hands grabbing her ass, pinning her right into his skilled mouth, and forgetting about his own naturally dominant instincts as he licked and suckled on her with reckless abandon, lapping up every drop of her intoxicating juices when he finally had her trembling all over him.

“Sure thing,” Bulma promised indifferently, wholly unafraid, as always, of his childish hostility. “But you have to be nice to me, _Ouji_ …” She quietly requested, raising her chin with exasperating smugness while eyeing the coarse fingers still imprisoning her hand, a not-so-subtle demand for full freedom in exchange for her inscrutable secrets. “Be _nice_ …” 

Vegeta didn’t even know what was happening anymore.

_Not a clue._

All he knew was that every one of her words was making him feel as if she’d steeped his heart with gasoline and lit it up on fire, turning him into a paltry, fully-grown man, acting like a reprimanded brat.

“See?” She asked malevolently the second he let go of her, her velvety skin suddenly burning his own golden one. “You can be nice when you want to be… Don’t you, _Ouji_?”

The dangerous vixen was now sitting with her back straight atop him, the tip of her tongue running artfully across her appetizing Cupid’s bow as she used his body like a measly seat, a throne fit for the Empress of Shadows herself.

“Well, as I was saying…” Bulma continued, growing visibly bored of entertaining herself at his stupid expense. “I know you’ve been feeling a little under the weather lately…”

_Under the weather._

That was quite a sadistic way to describe the disgraceful decadence of a Saiyan Prince, once born in possession of the greatest power level out of any child belonging to his warrior race, in over a thousand years, a boy promised the attainment of the golden power of the Legends since birth.

A Prince with no throne, race, or planet to call home anymore, but a Prince nonetheless, strong and shrewd enough, not only to survive to the abject dishonor and grievous pain of loss from a grotesquely young age, but to thrive within the obscure chaos of his surroundings.

The ruthless soldier who’d, once upon a time, occupied a warranted, high-rank position amongst la crème de la crème of the Emperor’s Elite Army, only to lose most of his strength, slowly but unstoppably, for reasons unknown to him, and ending his days as a mere errand boy, mainly taking care of collecting Frieza’s unpaid gambling debts, breaking the legs of those brainless enough not to fork out the cash, and losing his hard-earned reputation along the way.

“Just like I know…” Her whispery breath drifted heavily in the air, smoothing the way for her shocking deathblow. “ _How_ and _why_ it happened…”

Vegeta’s face turned to stone there and then, his body as tense as a tightly drawn wire as the woman’s scandalous revelation gradually began to sink into his exhausted consciousness.

“You lie!” He slurred, poorly managing to keep his rage in check, his face contorting into a mask of pure _hatred_ , hatred towards a woman heartless enough to muck around with the pathetic leftovers of a man’s crushed ego.

“I never lie,” Bulma declared with extraordinary seriousness. “At least, not when I’m off-duty…” She shrugged with disinterest, quickly correcting herself in views of his skeptical squint.

Her body rocked slightly above him, seeking balance, and swiftly standing on top of those impossibly high heels with the graceful limberness of a gazelle.

“If you want your answers, follow me, _Ouji_ …” She instructed resolutely, shooting him one final glance full of mystery, and a rare hint of honesty, before turning on her feet and walking away from him with pompous determination.

Vegeta hoisted himself up a bit, still lying on the muddy ground, supporting himself on his tired elbows while his bewildered eyes admired her every move, every single elegant step taken in the direction of what looked like a latest model, and most definitely ridiculously expensive, light cycle, parked at the end of the narrow street.

She never looked back, not even once, making it crystal clear that there would be no further insistence on her part, and that it would be his choice, and _his_ choice only, to willingly venture into the lion’s den at his own risk.

Because that’s what this was all about.

_It had to be._

There was no other explanation for this woman’s unforeseen entrance into his already screwed up existence, other than the vile intention of complicating it even more. Perhaps Frieza himself was behind this evil arrangement, for the Saiyan wouldn’t put it past some foul bastard like his Master to find a way to get rid of a useless weakling such as himself in the most twisted, conceivable manner.

And, as Vegeta’s starved gaze boldly desecrated that pair of plump ass cheeks, begging him to throw caution to the wind and follow the two-faced hellcat, he realized that he couldn’t possibly imagine a more crooked, sicker way to polish off a loser than sending a woman like Bulma Briefs his way, someone symbolizing both the best fuck of his life and a glimmer of real hope, only to end up dying somewhere, in some far-off wasteland, with a clean blast through the heart.

When the sexy trollop got to her last stop, she turned on her piercing heels, leaning cross-armed on the fancy bike while staring him cheekily in the eye, the smuggest of smirks painting itself on that gorgeous face the instant she noticed him following right behind her, like a reluctant Saiyan puppy, not even bothering to hide the vain satisfaction that her magnetic attraction aroused over a warrior like him.

_‘He knew it…’_

Power.

_The woman got off on it._

 

“Woman, if you’re _lying_ to me…” The Prince choked out weakly, his scarce sanity giving in with every involuntary step taken towards her, almost as if his body had developed a mind of its own when it came to this traitorous female. “I _will_ kill you,” he vowed with whatever hateful confidence he could still muster up.

“Of course, you will…” She murmured patronizingly, lightly lowering her chin and pouting coquettishly, responding to his empty threats as one would to those of a five-year-old kid.

“I mean it, _Bulma_!” Vegeta insisted, large fists gritting, face flashing crimson in an embarrassing mixture of renewed fury and astonished outrage. “If you’re fucking lying to me woman, I swear to the Gods, _I’ll_ …!”

_Too late._

Before he could even finish his sentence, the woman had lost her already minimal interest in him, giving him her back, hopping on the luxurious motorcycle, and starting the engine straight away, the loud noise of the potent motor announcing that the time had come for him to surrender to her arrogant invitation.

“Well?” She asked anew, esoteric blue eyes looking at the horizon while expert hands revved up the state-of-the-art vehicle. “Are you coming or not?”

Her question was purely a warning, the transparent warning that this would be his one and only opportunity to find out if any truth lay behind her fantastic claims or, what was strangely more intriguing to him, to ever get to see her again.

 

Trap.

_Trap._

It was a trap.

_It had to be._

 

But that didn’t stop the Prince from joining her for a wild ride, sitting uncomfortably behind that absurdly small figure, the most pitiful awkwardness overcoming him as his suddenly stiff arms tried to figure out _just_ the right way to hold onto her without crossing any of the new, invisible boundaries that the cunning female had just carved between them.

“Just remember, _Ouji_ …” Bulma’s caution echoed into the crisp air of the night, minute hands showing those brash engines no mercy, and those eyes, so luminous in appearance, yet brimming with poisonous ice, offering him one last, meaningful side-glance. “If you ride with _me_ , you follow _my_ rules…”

Her domineering statement set his spirit ablaze, forcing him to press his muscular chest even tighter against her back, proudly stealing a gasp of excitement out of her when those roguish fingertips dug deep into the softness of her slim waist.

“Over my _dead_ body…” Vegeta warned back in her ear, helpless to subdue the animalistic hunger drowning within his husky bedroom voice.

Fearless as ever, Bulma Briefs turned her face to him, her cold cheek leaning against his for a hot minute, lively eyes playfully drifting to his burning lips, and back to his onyx gaze, so indecipherable to the rest of the world, but so disturbingly easy to read, like an open book, to a woman as proficient in the Arts of Depravity as herself. 

“We’ll see…” She murmured in the end, sealing his death sentence with the finest femme-fatale leer in her vast collection of deadly weapons.

And just like that, she stepped on the gas with intrepid bravery, enveloping them in an oneiric cloud of danger and toxic smoke, and leaving behind the resplendent neon lights of the corrupt City they both called home, embarking on a journey of no return, a prodigious expedition that would open their eyes to a World absolutely unexplored to them both.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well... There it is! I hope I made it work somehow?
> 
> I admit, I had way too much fun writing Bulma in a way I never had before. 
> 
> If you're interested in more of this story, please let me know, because I have a crazy idea in mind for this one...
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, as always!


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